Weaving through the throng, nodding to acquaintances as they went, Adela was in a state of shock. She’d hoped... She’d sensed... But hopes and inklings weren’t the same as confirmation. She grinned brilliantly at a rather disapproving dowager as they passed, and was rewarded by a sudden softening in the other woman’s demeanor, as if the power of such obvious happiness had touched her.
The Spencerleighs were in possession of a tremendously imposing mansion, and the ballroom was vast. Adela and Wilson’s progress was slow, as many people stopped them to exchange courtesies. Her husband was a highly regarded man in political, academic and even business circles, for his brilliance, but titled ladies and fashionable women who normally wouldn’t have wanted to pass the time of day with Adela were suddenly amenable and gracious.
“My dear, how lovely to see you. How well you’re looking,” gushed a politician’s wife who Adela couldn’t remember for the life of her ever speaking to before.
“Do let me congratulate you on your marriage. You’re so lucky. Your husband clearly dotes on you,” murmured a noted Professional Beauty, rumored to be a conquest of the Prince of Wales himself. “Do come to tea one day next week. I would so love to chat.”
A footman proffered champagne, and despite her interior effervescence, Adela accepted a glass gratefully. Drawing her to one side, Wilson clinked his glass to hers.
“To us, Della. Partners in crime...and partners in life.” He gave a little shrug, a hopeful little gesture, as if he were momentarily unsure of himself. “Look...don’t trouble your mind if you can’t fully reciprocate my sentiment. I believe if you can simply like me a little...well, sufficiently to put up with me for at least a portion of each day, we have the basis for a viable and quite pleasurable marriage.” He paused, something almost imploring in his eyes. “At least for a while.”
What did he mean, “for a while”? Did he love her or didn’t he? Surely if he did, the pleasurable marriage should last indefinitely? She opened her mouth to question him, then heard her own name called out, in Mama’s familiar tones.
“Adela! Wilson! You’re here at last. Where have you been?”
Her head filled with her own questions, Adela spun round to find Mama and Marguerite bearing down on them. A shudder of distaste rippled through her at the sight of Blair Devine, so smug and smooth, in their wake.
“Sorry, Mama, something cropped up at the very last moment. We came as soon as we were able.”
As she hugged her mother, she caught sight of Marguerite smiling. Their parent, however, remained blissfully in ignorance of the true nature of their tardiness, and as Adela stepped back, Mama rounded on her. “Oh, Della, what are you thinking of? What will the marquess and marchioness think of you, turning up in a tea gown? And with your hair all awry?”
Wilson stepped forward, took his mother-in-law’s offered hand and dusted a chivalric kiss on her gloved fingertips.
“Look at Wilson...even he’s made an effort,” Mama ranted. “Dressed the perfect gentleman, while you look like a gypsy.”
“Please don’t scold Adela, Mrs. Ruffington,” Wilson said as he gave Marguerite a brotherly kiss on the cheek. “I approved her gown and I think she looks exceptionally fine in it. She has superb taste and her choice in all things is both elegant and modern.”
“If you say so, Wilson, if you say so.” Mama didn’t seem convinced, even though she obviously had a soft spot for her son-in-law now that was what he was. All ideas of removing him as the Old Curmudgeon’s heir seemed never to have existed, and cousin Wilson was the apple of Mama’s eye now.
But he’s not my cousin. Not really.
It was all so perplexing. But now wasn’t the time to ruminate on the repercussions of what they’d discovered. Especially as Blair Devine was pushing forward and grinning unctuously. As he opened his mouth to speak, Adela wanted to punch him right in it.
“Mrs. Ruffington, may I say how beautiful you look this evening.” He aped Wilson’s graceful gesture, raising her gloved hand to his lips. Adela had to exert supreme control in order not to cringe. Especially when his eyes roved to her throat and cleavage. “The famous diamonds look most becoming on you. You should wear them on every possible occasion.”
Beast! She wondered precisely what Wilson had said to him when they’d faced off against each other. Did he realize that she knew everything her husband did? Or was he just aiming his barbed remarks at Wilson?
Those dear, blue eyes were like chips of ice and narrowed as they fixed on the smooth solicitor. Adela could almost imagine psychic daggers emanating from them and hurtling toward their foe.
“Thank you, Mr. Devine. That’s just what I plan to do.” She looked at Blair Devine levelly, aware of Wilson having moved up right beside her, and placing his hand on the small of her back in a protective gesture. “Until such time as I have a daughter, or a daughter-in-law, to whom I can give them as a betrothal gift.” There may well not be a child if she and Wilson were to be together for only a short while, but that horrid wretch Devine wasn’t to know that, was he? She felt Wilson’s fingers curve against her spine as if in approval of her bravado.
“Yes, indeed,” her husband said, giving her a fiery, slanted smile. “The Ruffington diamonds will be a treasured heirloom. It seems only right and fitting that they should always be passed down to beautiful Ruffington brides.” He paused, and Adela noted the slight tension in his lips. Like a quirk of challenge or triumph, as if he’d taken off one of his immaculate white gloves and smacked Blair Devine across the cheek with it. “Always,” he finished, with a vaguely pugnacious emphasis.
Devine’s face was a picture. He looked flummoxed. Unsure. Perplexed. There’d been no mistaking the timbre of Wilson’s voice. The intent and the message. Blair Devine knew something was awry now, but not exactly what. It was like watching him twisting in the wind, desperate for an explanation but unable to ask, because he couldn’t reveal himself.
“Um...yes, of course,” Devine said, frowning. His face was flushed, and he appeared slightly angry, as well as puzzled. “Might we have a word, Ruffington?” He touched Wilson on the arm, as if to urge him away from the group.
“I’m afraid not,” Wilson responded, cool and imperious. “My dear wife and I are just about to go across and congratulate the guests of honor at this happy occasion. Come along, Della, time to wish Sybil and Algernon all the best.” Tucking Adela’s hand under his arm yet again, he drew her along, sure and unstoppable, nodding briefly to her mother as they went.
“Oh, dear, he doesn’t look very happy, Wilson, does he?”
Wilson squeezed his hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. “Don’t you worry, my love. Let him stew. He’ll be a lot less happy when I acquaint him with what might happen when certain parties take delivery of their stolen papers, and how they might exact retribution if word should come to their ears about just how those papers came to be missing.”
“But we broke into his house,” Adela pointed out in the softest voice.
Wilson winked at her, and replied, equally sotto voce, “And we got away, remember. There’s no proof we were ever there, and don’t forget, there are those in high places willing to allow me a very great deal of latitude, even if we were suspected.” He leaned across and pecked her quickly on the cheek. “Now let’s put Sybil out of her state of anxiousness so she can enjoy the rest of her party free of worries.”
“Oh, yes, let’s!” Adela looked toward her sister, standing receiving guests, with Algernon alongside her. Sybil looked dazzlingly pretty and adorable, and Algie was positively splendid in evening dress, but to the careful observer they both bore signs of strain and tension, in their eyes and in their stance.
“Darling, what a wonderful affair this is.” Adela embraced her sibling. It was a splendid affair. The mansion house was breathtakingly decorated and filled with examples of fine art. What young woman wouldn’t be thrilled beyond measure to know that one day she would be its mistress, with a doting husband at her side? W
ell, most young women, corrected Adela instantly. It was too ornate a place for her. She preferred her new home in Chelsea, and even Ruffington Hall was less palatial, suiting her better...but only if there was the prospect of sharing both residences indefinitely with the tall lean figure at her side.
“You look very beautiful, Sybil. Pretty as a picture,” opined said tall figure, greeting his sister-in-law, kissing her cheek before shaking hands with Algie. “Evening, Framley.”
There seemed to be a little lull around them, and Sybil grabbed Adela’s hand. “Any news? You said you might be able to, um, do something,” she said, her sparkling smile slipping completely and revealing her anxiety.
Adela touched her sister’s cheek gently, smiling in reassurance. “I’ve got a gift for you, Sybil.” She unfastened the clip of her little evening bag, and drew out a familiar ribbon, holding up its length before pressing it into Sybil’s palm. For a second she exchanged sideways glances with Wilson, and saw a grin on his face. A job well done.
“Oh, Della...Della...” Sybil’s pretty mouth opened and shut, much like a pet goldfish, for a moment. “And...and the other things?”
“I’m afraid they accidentally fell into the fire, Syb.”
For a moment, the intimation of a pout appeared on Sybil’s lips, but then she pursed them, squared her shoulders and seemed to straighten up in a way Adela had never seen before. Her little sister was an adult at last.
“Yes. The best place for them.” Sybil turned to her fiancé. “Don’t you think so, Algie?”
“Absolutely,” the young man agreed, his own face almost alight with relief, too. He thrust his hand into Wilson’s and pumped it. Clearly, neither of the younger pair knew exactly what had occurred to free them from threat and doubt, but they were both shrewd enough to deduce that their saviors had taken some kind of risk to ensure a happy outcome.
“Oh, Della, I love you!”
That’s the second declaration in the space of half an hour.
But this one was so much easier to deal with, as Adela found herself wrapped in a veritable bear hug of sisterly gratitude. No complications here.
“What’s he staring at?” demanded Sybil as they drew apart, glaring over Adela’s shoulder.
It was no surprise, on turning, to see Blair Devine staring. Staring at the little length of rose-pink satin ribbon still dangling from Sybil’s white-gloved fingers. All trace of his sleek, smug expression was gone now, replace by total confusion and horror. Not to mention frustration. There was nothing he could do. He was shackled by his supposed role as family advisor. He couldn’t even claim to have ever seen the ribbon, much less the letters they had once secured.
Adela glanced at Wilson, who was staring at Devine, too. His head was up, his mouth curved just a little. Not gloating, but bearing a look of satisfaction.
Yes, indeed. A job well done.
Her husband turned to her and nodded. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. He did love her. That was no untruth.
But did he want to spend the rest of his life with her? That seemed to be a different matter altogether.
* * *
THE BALL PASSED in a whirl. Music. Dancing. Smiling faces. Chatter, chatter, chatter.
The joy of Sybil and Algernon seemed to spread out like a sweet, sparkling blanket of good humor that embraced everybody, making the entire event an outstanding success. Even Adela found herself forgetting her questions about her future with Wilson, and succumbing to the general aura of celebration and high-spirited optimism.
No questions, Della. Just enjoy the moment. You’ve got the most handsome, unusual and brilliant man at your side. You never hoped to ever be able to attend a ball under such circumstances, so relish every moment and savor it to the full.
And Wilson could even dance. Which was unexpected, and yet on reflection shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. He ran and boxed and practiced an Eastern martial art for exercise, which made him light on his feet and agile. He was lean, athletic and graceful. He’d probably made a study of the repeating patterns and the physical mechanics of the waltz, the gavotte and all the other figures, and was able to reproduce the steps perfectly from memory. Adela was a modest dancer herself, but she seemed to glide and fly over the ballroom floor like a virtuosa with Wilson to guide her.
It wasn’t normally her way, and she wouldn’t have admitted to it if he’d caught her, but every now and again she found herself staring at him adoringly, when he wasn’t looking.
What other husband or partner would have countenanced such a daring scheme to come to the aid of Sybil, and all the other victims of blackmail? Anyone else would have simply scurried around, desperately trying to amass sufficient funds, and then, even if they could get the sum together, the victims would still be left at the mercy of Devine, if he’d chosen to retain a choice letter or two as a security.
But Wilson’s solution was unequivocal. And not only for Sybil, but for others enduring a similar plight. Adela had had time to note only a few of the names on the labels from the bundles of letters, but she saw at least two of those who were in jeopardy among the guests. She didn’t know them as personal friends, so there was no way she could race up to them and tell them the news that would take the haunted expressions off their faces. But in the next few days, a visit would bring them relief and make them smile again.
It certainly made her heart glad to see Sybil and Algie in a seventh heaven of happiness, but there was one person who certainly didn’t look happy anymore. Blair Devine had disappeared not long after the incident with the pink ribbon.
“I hope he doesn’t take his wrath out on his servants when he discovers what’s happened,” Adela remarked to Wilson. “It’s not their fault he’s been foiled, but he’s such an unpleasant piece of work I’m sure he’ll lash out.”
“Don’t worry, Della,” replied Wilson. They were at the buffet now, and despite everything, Adela received a wicked little thrill watching her husband eat a dish of ice cream pudding. His tongue was so mobile, and he was thoroughly enjoying the sweet confection. When he ran his tongue around his lips it did astonishing things to her imagination and made her shudder, as if that tongue were plying elsewhere.
“I left a sum of money with Earnest in case of that contingency,” continued her husband, licking his spoon with scant regard for the august personages in attendance at the ball. “If he cuts up rough, I’ve instructed Earnest to distribute it, and find lodgings for himself and the other staff, and then tell them all to call on us in a day or two, either for a place or a recommendation. I don’t intend that anybody suffer further at the hands of Blair Devine, whatever their station in life.”
“Thank you, Wilson. You think of everything.”
“One tries.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “And speaking of stations in life, do you think the marquess and marchioness would think me a yokel if I took another dish of ice cream? It’s really rather good.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t. They’ve really taken a shine to you, and that’s even without knowing how you’ve saved their family from a horrid scandal.”
“How we’ve saved them,” said Wilson firmly. “You were my trusty right hand, Della. You deserve equal credit...as well as every other good thing that’s owed to you.” He looked serious for a moment, and yes, inscrutable as always. “And speaking of shines... The marchioness seemed very taken with you, and your frock. Perhaps you’ve created a new convert to rational, aesthetic clothing?”
It was true. The marchioness had been among many unexpected admirers of her unconventional attire, and she had also promised Mme Mirielle’s address to several ladies. It might be because most were so dazzled by the Ruffington diamonds that they looked on any gown they adorned with favor, but it was nice to be on the receiving end of such a great deal of admiration and approval, after years of feeling like the odd one out, or an ugly duckling.
As the evening wore on into night, and the small hours, Adela found it difficult to hide a growing fatigue. She
had to purse her lips now and again to stifle her yawns, and she knew Wilson had noticed, even if nobody else had.
“Do you think Teale’s returned by now?” she asked when, to her chagrin, a yawn escaped her control completely. There was consolation in the fact that other guests were also beginning to fade, but still it was a bit galling to be seen yawning one’s head off in polite company.
“I believe so. He’s had plenty of time. Shall we say our goodbyes and depart?”
Wilson had been concerned about the strongbox where they’d stored the letters and documents being left unattended in the Spencerleighs’ mews. It was unfair to expect Teale to stand guard for every second of the time they were at the ball, so Wilson had dispatched the valet home, to put the precious box in safekeeping, have his supper and then, making sure that their residence was far more secure than Blair Devine’s had ever been, return for them. Wilson had charged their two footmen, loyal and brawny lads both, to keep watch all night, lest Devine turn up there on some misguided quest for retribution himself.
After many hugs, and social kisses and promises of visits and of invitations forthcoming, eventually they climbed into the carriage and settled themselves as Teale got the horses under way.
Sleep still pawed at Adela’s mind, wanting to claim her, yet at the same time, she was on edge. The interior of the coach was a different place now. Last time she and Wilson had ridden in here, it had been before. Before his sudden declaration of love that had seemed to shift the whole universe on its axis. She wanted to throw herself at him, and kiss him and embrace him and tell him that, yes, she loved him, too, and probably always had done, even throughout all the years of their estrangement and at the height of their most savage conflict.
Yet her eyes drooped, and her tongue felt so heavy. “Wilson...what you said...I...” Blinking, she was just on the point of framing the words and getting them out when he laid a long fingertip lightly over her lips.
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